


Heads Or Tails

by saltyburning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Sam Winchester, Bad Parent John Winchester, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester references, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Demons Are Assholes, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, If Supernatural (TV) Were on HBO, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Lucifer's Cage Sam Winchester, Psychic Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Deserves to be Happy, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Soulless Sam Winchester, sometimes selfcare is snapping toxic people’s necks with your demonic powers and that’s okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyburning/pseuds/saltyburning
Summary: If John had taught Sam one thing, it was how to be ruthless.Or:Soulless Sam and the choices he has yet to make.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 56





	Heads Or Tails

**Author's Note:**

> Soulless Sam could’ve been so much more feral. Such wasted, wasted potential. He’d totally use his powers to do crazy shit- what’s stopping him??

When Sam was young, before John’s coldness and alcoholism had really set in, he looked up to his father. He tried to be a good hunter, tried to mimic Dean’s enthusiasm. It always fell flat, as if something inside of him were holding him back. 

His dad had taught them that weakness lies in hesitation. “Hesitation is caused by fear,” he would explain in that distant voice which always meant that he wasn’t really talking to anybody but himself. “Fear is unbeatable. In the field, you must learn to push that away. You must be able to compartmentalize and make both fast and accurate decisions.” 

One moment stood out in Sam’s mind- the day John had rounded up the boys and, while leaning against the motel’s ugly rust-colored wallpaper with his face streaked in shadows from the window blinds, spinning a twinkling coin on his fingertips. When he spoke, his words came out sing-song and gravelly. Sam and Dean were completely transfixed. “Today’s lesson is not for the field, but for life. One day, you will come across the most important decision you’ll ever make. And you’ll know it when you see it. Never trust yourself. Never turn yourself into something that does,” He drawled drunkenly, raking his eyes over his sons who were perched on one of the motel beds. “Leave it up to a coin toss. You can’t make decisions for yourself.” 

He tipped forward as if to pass out, then stumbled towards Sam. His eyes were glassy and his breath stunk of alcohol. Sam was never the one to be spoken to directly, so he flinched when his dad kneeled down in front of him. 

John seemed to not notice his son’s reaction. He grabbed Sam’s wrist and tugged it towards him. Sam sat there dumbly as John clasped his hand onto Sam’s. Something was placed on his palm, cold enough to burn. As John pulled his hand away, Sam closed his own around the coin. 

After that event, Sam soon realized that he hated something about his life. He could never really place it. There was just something _wrong_. He tried his best to ignore the whispers in his mind that told him it was him. 

He began to fight against his dad more and more often, more and more anger rising in his throat each time. A dog resisting training. At some point, while shouting at his dad over making him change schools once again, he caught sight of an odd glint in John’s eye. It looked almost like fear. 

Of course, it disappeared too quickly for Sam to study it. Everything shifted and clicked back into place, ready to follow the script where red would pool in John’s face and his hands would turn shaky and pale. He’d step forward like a threatened animal, ready to attack. 

If John had taught Sam one thing, it was how to be ruthless.

* * *

The motel room was quiet enough for all small sounds to be amplified. The clunking and rattling noises coming from the potentially antique air conditioner nearly echoed. The highway became an ever-present hum. Dean’s footsteps as he sorted through his bag to find his suit might as well have been thunder. 

The brothers didn’t speak on the drive here, and they didn’t speak now. There wasn’t much to talk about. 

Sam sat on the ratty comforter of his bed, running his hands across its scratchy material that seemed to be in every place they stayed at since childhood. The room was hot and muggy. Sweat was beginning to build up around his eyebrows, but he didn’t wipe it away. 

Dean always hated hot weather like this. It was one of the few things he really complained about to their father. Every motel they stayed at required air conditioning. Sam had always wondered why their dad stood for it. Then again, when both Sam and Dean agreed on something, they were nearly unstoppable. Sam might’ve hated high temperatures less, but it was enough to back Dean up. 

Now, Sam couldn’t be bothered. The weather didn’t change that there’s still monsters to kill. 

“ _Shit!_ ” Sam started at Dean’s cry. 

“What is it?” He said, standing up warily, not bothering to hide his hand that reached toward his holster. 

“Our damn suits. I stuck ‘em in there with some other clothes, figuring it’d be fine- apparently they still had some blood on them.” He tossed the clothes back into the bag haphazardly. “I’m gonna need to go to the laundromat, you wanna come along?” 

Sam didn’t comment as Dean turned towards him. He could see his brother tense at the sight of Sam’s hand still twitching next to his gun, could feel the distrust radiating off of him. He met Dean’s eyes carefully, and said in a smoother voice than he knew he should have, “Only one person needs to be there. You go, I’ll stay here and look into the case some more.” 

Dean nodded stiffly and tugged the zipper on the bag closed with a grating sound. Sam sat back down on the bed, hands in his lap and his back ruler-straight. 

The days of needless trips to the laundromat are behind them. He wished he could miss them like he was supposed to. 

“I should be back around two o’clock. If I’m not, call me.” Dean opened the door and sunlight flooded in. He paused halfway out and looked over his shoulder at Sam as if to say something. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Sam lazily thought that he looked like a gasping fish. Then Dean turned around and shut the door with a sharp _click_. 

Sam was left in the darkness, no light except for what leaked through the window blinds. 

Dean never used to have to tell Sam to call him if he’s late. It used to be natural. It was formed on the trust that they would watch out for each other. 

That trust was long gone. It was like pieces of it tore off bit by bit over time, an old shawl that should’ve been thrown out years ago. Lucifer, Ruby, Stanford. The clock ticked backwards to when they were little kids holding onto each other, terrified of whether or not their dad would come home after the hunt that was supposed to avenge Mary, every hunt that was supposed to avenge Mary. 

Dean didn’t seem to realize that Sam was still Sam. Or at least, he still felt like he was. The only issue with him was what he was missing. There was emptiness where something used to be. He wasn’t sure what that something was. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. There were holes inside him where wind whistled and howled and cried for the loss of what it had never known. 

He shouldn’t just be sitting here, wasting time. He stood up. _Research_. 

He dug through his own duffel to find his laptop. Chewing a pen, he sat down on the too-cushy chair next to the window with a pad of paper and the computer. He opened it and was momentarily blinded by its brightness. 

He used to be blinded by brightness a lot- in the cage, at least. Lucifer was a frozen asteroid, a burning sun, a swirling mass of ice crystals in emptiness. He was the devil, and he was evil, but not in a way any human could comprehend without seeing it for themself. Angels were beyond understanding, and the devil was no different. He would be cracking Sam’s skull open one moment, rejoicing in the blood that flooded out, comparing it to communion’s wine. The next moment, he’d be sitting cross-legged in front of him, holding a conversation, being caring in the most sickening and genuine way. 

Sam may have known him better than any other mortal alive, but Lucifer was the one person who knew Sam best. 

“ _Old Pops never trusted you, did he?_ ” He’d croon into Sam’s ear, stroking his hair gently while tearing his stomach open with hooked claws. “ _Didn’t that ever make you angry? No, don’t shake your head, you and I and everyone else all know it did. Mmhm, sometimes you even considered killing him. It’d be so easy to mess up on a hunt, blame the monster, free both yourself and your brother. But oh, oh, that’d just prove him right._ ” He’d bend closer to Sam, smiling softly at Sam’s wince as his claws dug further. “ _Deep down, you know that_ you _are the monster. That heart of yours just prevents you from accepting it._ ” 

The devil was gentle and kind and sadistic and horrifying, and he was always right. 

Sam blinked at the computer’s screen as he realized how far he had drifted off. He forced himself to type in his password. The clacking of the keyboard was familiar, but it wasn’t comforting. He wondered if this was hell. 

The page he pulled up told a lot about the history of the town- the original settlers, the festivals, the local businesses- but not much that would help with a potential werewolf hunt. Still, he tucked the information away in his mind. 

He checked the time. Two o’clock. 

He didn’t care about his brother anymore, but he knew he should. Maybe that’s the way it always had been- he listens to orders because when he doesn’t, he destroys. 

When he called, Dean didn’t answer.

* * *

The car was old, probably bought used. It smelled of cigarettes and an unnecessary amount of air freshener. It didn’t accelerate very quickly, but it could do the job. It was also stolen. 

The town was small enough that he probably didn’t need go through the trouble of stealing it, but driving was more efficient than searching on his feet. 

After far too much time spent driving around the vehicle that hopefully nobody noticed was missing, he finally found the laundromat- a small, worn down building wedged between a flower shop and a recently out-of-business cafe. It’s dingy white paint was peeling, revealing red brick underneath it like torn flesh. Sam got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. 

A wave of heat hit him. He hadn’t realized just how much of a difference the car’s air conditioning had made. In the middle of town, with the sun glaring directly down on him and the buildings leaning together as if too tired to stand up straight, he felt like a little insect caught in the rays of some kid’s magnifying glass. The world around him slouched, a long defeated warrior. A thought rose in Sam’s mind that the world might be trying to make him do the same. He shifted his shoulders back and approached the laundromat’s window. 

He cupped a hand around his eyes to peer in, but the lights were off. He frowned. _Maybe there’s a different laundromat that Dean went to_. Still, a feeling deep in his gut told him that there was more behind the old brick walls. 

The doors swung open with ease. When he stepped into the room, the lights flickered on with a soft humming noise. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. 

The place was empty. Washing machines lined the walls and formed a row in the middle of the room. Colorful and cheap plastic chairs were placed around them periodically. Everything looked normal, yet somehow it felt _off_. 

He walked forward, hand at his holster, meticulously peering around with his head on a swivel. His shoes stuck to the floor and peeled off with a sickening sound at every step. 

He reached the back of the room and looked to his right. _Finally_. A dryer’s door was left open, clothes strewn out of it. It looked like someone left in a rush. When he moved closer, he recognized the clothes as well as the gore on them. Dean had been there. 

Carefully, he reached out and sifted through them, looking for anything that could give him a clue as to where his brother was now. He frowned as nothing turned up and then- 

Something fell to the floor with a ringing noise ending in a stutter. Sam caught the glimpse of silver at the edge of his eyesight and bent down to investigate. 

Just a quarter. Dean must’ve not cleaned out his pockets- or rather, didn’t have the chance to. The coin lay on the floor, amongst many others in the same situation. Still, this one stood out. It shone in the fluorescent lights, nearly humming as if it were one of them. Surrounded by grime and forgotten memories, yet still carrying on. 

Sam wasn’t much for poetry, not anymore. Still, he leaned forward on the balls of his feet and picked it up. It was cold. The feeling tore through him. 

It burned his fingertips. It burned at the back of his eyes. It burned through his mind with familiar icy pain. 

Just as they always had, images flashed in front of him. At first they were lights, bright and disorienting, but then they began to take shape. 

Dean sat on a cement floor in a large dark room. His lip was swollen and blood ran from a scratch above his eyebrow. A set of handcuffs kept him tied to a steel wall, and from the looks of the chafed and reddened skin on his wrists he had tried and failed at escaping from them. He glared at something just behind Sam’s point of view, face molded into an animalistic snarl. 

Sam stared at the glinting fear in his brother’s eyes and felt nothing except for a rush of pressure to his head as the vision ended. His heartbeat sounded in his ears and he could feel it beating at his temples. He was still on the floor, tile digging lines into one hand. 

The other still held the coin. Sam blinked through the blurriness of his sight. His hand felt sticky and warm. Sam blinked again. Blood coated the coin like it itself were wounded. 

He sat back on his knees and raised the back of his hand to his nose. It was bleeding. He didn’t bother wiping it away- it would only smudge. 

He pushed himself to his feet, vision going black for a moment at the change in elevation. More blood dribbled out of his nose and he sniffed. He slipped the coin into his jean’s pocket and left to go save Dean. He left because that’s what he was supposed to do.

The humming of the lights followed him.

* * *

Fortunately, there was only one place that could look like the area in his vision. A warehouse, right outside of town. They should have checked it before heading to the motel. _Why always warehouses? There’s so many other convenient places to torture people in_. 

He pulled up to the side of the building and got out of the car. This time he shut the door quietly as possible. He stood in silence for a moment, assessing the situation. 

Distant wind chimes sang from someone’s porch down the road. Wind whispered through the trees and the sun seemed to make the same sound. Sam’s boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped up to the steel door, easing his gun out of his holster. 

He paused, ear pressed up against the side of the building, listening. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. It felt like a trap. 

He gripped the side of the door with his free hand and pulled. It slid open with a grating screech. 

Curiosity killed the cat, but this one had been long dead. 

The inside of the warehouse was dark but cool. It smelled of motor oil and sawdust. Sam’s footsteps echoed on the concrete. They almost drowned out a whisper of a sound- 

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice rasped. It sounded like he had been shouting for hours. Sam spun in circles, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. “Sammy, please.” The last time Dean had called him that was before Sam jumped into hell. Something was wrong. 

_There_. He caught a glimpse of red glittering in the dim light, and watery green eyes turned towards him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Dean.” He stated the facts. 

Something chucked behind him, and Sam’s back stiffened. His hands tightened on the grip of his gun. Sulfur mixed in with the smell of motor oil. 

“Oh, Samuel Winchester, I’m glad you are here. I wasn’t sure if you’d come, considering your current state.” The demon said lightly. 

Sam pivoted on the heels of his feet, pasting a wide smile on his face. He was well aware of how he looked, blood running down his chin, and intended to use it. “I like to surprise people every so often. Now, just what am I here for?” 

The demon looked surprisingly average. Black eyes, arrogant expression. Possessing a middle-aged man with balding hair and an ugly tie. Too smug for its own good. “Just a conversation.” It said, glancing at the gun with meaning behind its eyes. 

“Sammy, don’t.” Dean warned from behind him. 

Sam bit his lip in contemplation, then smirked as he flicked his gun’s safety on and shoved it back into his holster. _Why not?_

The demon grinned maniacally and blinked its eyes back to human-appearing. _Far too proud for such a little success_ , Sam thought. 

When it spoke, its lips moved off-beat from its words. “Florida is pleasant this time of year, no? How long has it been since you last visited- three years?” 

“How would you know that?” Sam growled through his waxy smile. 

“News gets around.” It waved its hand. “But never mind that. My point is, you were reportedly a pretty good shot during that time. I mean- phew, enough to scare an archangel certainly means something. A shame your brother doesn’t remember.” It glanced over Sam’s shoulder. 

“Sammy?” Dean seemed worried. He was still using that damn name that didn’t belong to him anymore. Sam’s lip twitched in agitation, but he didn’t reply. 

The demon caught this and continued, softer and braver. “Not to mention when you were with Ruby. You certainly gave most of us a run for our money.” It chuckled again, nasally and completely inhuman. 

Sam rolled his head back and sighed. Fixing the demon with a glare, he tipped it to the side. A familiar position yet anything but angelic. “Your point?” 

“I knew your daddy, you know.” The demon ignored Sam’s question and let it’s eyes roam around the room. “Just about killed me once. Would’ve if he had been just a bit more knowledgeable on hunting at the time. A real fierce guy, knew how to get stuff done.” It rested its gaze on Sam and its expression turned serious. “You’re a lot like him, you know.” 

“Tell me why you wanted me here.” Sam was growing impatient. He didn’t care about the useless build-up, he cared about what it meant. 

“Your powers are strong, Sam. You yourself are strong. Hell is in need of a new ruler, something other than that Crowley. I want you to pick up where you left off. I want you to fulfill your destiny.” A pause, and it added, “Not many have had the privilege of meeting Lucifer.” 

A jolt went through Sam at that last comment and something bitter inside of him raised its head. “Meeting Lucifer is _not_ a privilege.” His arms shook. He wasn’t sure why. 

The demon seemed to realize what it said wrong and backed down with disappointment. It ducked its head in something resembling fear. “Fair enough. Nonetheless, you have nothing holding you back now. No one can stop you from inheriting everything you were meant to have. You want power, Sam. You can have it.” 

The warehouse fell silent as Sam stood, motionless. When he finally spoke, it was a nearly inaudible murmur. 

“You’re wrong.” Dean’s handcuffs rustled behind him. “I don’t want power. Not when I already have it.” 

He stretched his arm out in front of him, palm facing towards the demon. It immediately knew what was happening and scrambled backwards, shouting words that have been dead for millennia. 

And Sam _reached_. He sensed the long-corrupted soul beneath the body that didn’t belong to it, and grabbed it before it could escape. It choked as if being strangled, and the meatsuit’s veins began to flicker orange. 

All the while it stared up at Sam with human eyes, shining with tears and awe. As if Sam were the martyr of its story and not the end. Its mouth gaped open and motionless as it wheezed, “You kill monsters while pretending not to be one yourself. Free yourself, Samuel.” 

Sam’s body turned cold and rigid, then his eyes narrowed. He grit his teeth and something, somewhere _snapped_. The sound of a flag in the wind, a flag torn to shreds. The demon glowed bright enough to blind, and then all light was gone. It fell to the floor and landed with a sharp _crack_ as it’s head hit concrete. Just a body. The air buzzed like lightning had struck. 

Blood dripped onto Sam’s shoe. He turned around, eyes wide and soft as possible. 

Dean was pressed up against the wall, arm stretched protectively across his face. He stared at Sam with unfamiliarity, as if he had just witnessed a rabid dog tear someone apart. _Maybe he did_ , Sam mused. 

He kneeled next to his brother, ignoring the flinch he got in response. Maybe he was like his father. He held his hand over the handcuffs and they fell open. Maybe he was his own person. 

Linking Dean’s arm around his, he practically carried him away. He nudged the door open farther with his foot and stepped outside. 

He stumbled when his shoes met gravel, light filling his eyes. Everything was too bright, the sun harsh enough to turn everything a giant flash of white. Dean’s arm left his, and he turned back towards him blindly. 

He was met by a sharp pain in his jaw, immediately followed by one in his nose. A sickening crack echoed in the air, and Sam teetered backwards. He flung out a hand and managed to catch himself on the car, head spinning. 

His nose was bleeding again, this time for a different reason. 

“You’re not Sammy.” Sam lifted his head to see Dean stalk towards him, head framed by a halo of sunlight reflected off the steel warehouse walls. 

“Dean, wait-“ Sam scrambled to get his footing. 

“You’re a fucking monster.” Dean spat the last word like a curse. Sam kept his back pressed to the car’s door, his brother towering over him. He recognized the disgust in Dean’s eyes, could only think about all those times he didn’t punch back. The youngest brother, the youngest _son_. Always trying to make someone proud and never allowed punch back. 

“My Sammy would never do that and you know it. We’re going back to the motel and finishing the case. Then we call Bobby and put your soul back where it belongs.” Dean’s voice was cold. Sam was too stunned by the blows to respond. His jaw ached. 

Sam couldn’t help but wonder if Dean’s Sammy was long gone and he was only just realizing it now. His entire life, Sam had been told who he was. Juggling the roles of brother and monster, innocent and destructive. He had been told who he should be, told what he inevitably would become. They were supposed to be Team Free Will, but often it seemed like free will was something too dangerous for Sam to have. 

The demon was both right and wrong. Nothing was stopping Sam, sure, but this wasn’t about destiny. This was about _not_ being who he was meant to be. He looked up at Dean again and was only met with distrust. 

“Did you fucking hear me, bitch?” The nickname wasn’t kind anymore. The haze in Sam’s mind cleared and left him in ice. He was half-tempted to respond with _yes, sir_. 

Instead, he just nodded and moved out of the way. Dean huffed and jerked the car door open. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam’s voice was soft and high-pitched. He almost felt like a little kid again. Dean paused, then faced Sam. 

“What is it?” 

Sam’s fingers dug in his pocket until they found the quarter, still stained red. He pulled it out and presented it in his hand like an offering. “Heads or tails?” 

Dean paused. He stepped away from the car, mystified. He glanced up at Sam with a strange mix of fearful and bemused flickering across his face, then locked his eyes back onto the coin. “Heads.” 

Sam shifted the quarter onto his thumb, and _looked_ at his brother. His face was freckled from the sun, hair tussled in the wind. Grass stains covered his jeans. He seemed almost boyish. For a moment, he was the kid he had once been, Sam was his little brother, and everything was normal. 

But that moment froze just before it registered. The wires almost connected, but their frayed ends could only generate a spark flung off in the wrong direction. Weakness lies in hesitation. Sam tossed the coin in the air and it rang as it spun, turning into a sparkle as white as the empty sky. 

Then it fell, and Sam captured it in his palm. He slowly uncovered it. “Heads.” 

He looked upwards. Dean stared at him like a deer cornered by a hunter and his dog. The hunter was covered in blood that was only his own and the dog was gnashing its yellowed teeth. 

Sam didn’t move when he snapped his brother’s neck. 

Dean fell to the ground in a cloud of dust and Sam wished he felt something other than freed.

**Author's Note:**

> You go girlboss, you don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.


End file.
